I walk into the living room and sit on the edge of the couch. My hands twist together in my lap, and I force myself to stop. I don’t want to look nervous and make this harder for him.
But I know once he says it, everything is going to change.
Penn doesn’t sit. He stands in front of me, then starts pacing.
I watch him take three steps one way, then turn and take three steps back.
“Penn.”
He stops, but he doesn’t look at me. “I need to tell you something.”
“I know.”
His eyes flick to mine.
I swallow. “I mean, I figured.”
He drags a hand over his jaw. “I’ve been trying to figure out how to say it.”
“Then come sit beside me and say it.”
He shakes his head. “I don’t know if I can sit.”
“You can.” I hold my hand out to him. “If you have something to tell me, I want you next to me when you say it. Not pacing like you’re about to deliver bad news to a patient.”
His forehead creases, but he walks toward me. When he takes my hand, his fingers are cold. He sits beside me, close enough that our knees touch, but he keeps his eyes on our joined hands.
For a second, neither of us says anything, then he takes a breath. “I don’t think I’ve ever told you about this, but when I was younger, I had an accident.”
I squeeze his hand. “What kind of accident?”
He looks toward the fireplace instead of at me. “I was sixteen. Playing baseball with my brothers and some friends. It was stupid. Just a normal game. Nothing serious.”
His thumb moves over my hand, but I don’t think he realizes he’s doing it.
“I got hit with a ball,” he says.
I wait.
He swallows hard. “No one thought much of it at the time. I mean, it hurt like hell, but I was sixteen. I was embarrassed more than anything. I didn’t want everyone making a big deal out of it.”
My chest aches. I already know where this is going, but hearing him say it makes it worse.
“Penn,” I whisper.
He shakes his head. “I didn’t know that it would alter my whole future.”
His voice gets rough, and I tighten my hold on his hand.
“It wasn’t until a year and a half ago that I found out.” He finally looks at me, and the look on his face steals the breath from my lungs. “The accident likely caused damage. Enough that…”
He stops talking and shakes his head.
I just hold his hand and wait for him to trust me.
His jaw tightens. “Enough that I’m infertile.”
The word hangs between us.
